Man is a cancer. A blight that will cure its self. It’s a fault in our programming.
And it seems it can’t be helped. No matter how many of our best and brightest beg us to excel. We’ll continue to doom ourselves.
As well as destroy this planet. faster than we can maintain it’s health. for things as arbitrary as power or wealth.
And we’re proud of our indulgence. Like hunters displaying pelts. Proud of their slaughter.
They just might commerate it by making a belt. Something as senseless as the deed itself. A more then fitting allegory.
On the waste we surrendered to. Choosing to wallow in the ruin. to which we had long dwelt.
Proof positive of our stagnation. Because even decades later we remain knelt. In the Decay we’ve created for ourselves.
By trusting those of higher birth. Two forever fill the well. Believing them when they say they’d clear the obstructions.
And silence the quell. But these easy answers started the overdose. That will one day expel.
Our species to the annals of history. with every other dominant genus. Who in glory once dwelled.
From tetrapod to man. A promise made, and a potential withheld.
A CANCER CURED
